The footsteps sounded different. These were not the crude thuds of military boots, but strides that were light, rhythmic, and saturated with arrogance. At the threshold of the stifling guardroom, Baron Cedric Halloway appeared. His luxurious blue velvet cloak stood in stark contrast to the moss-covered stone walls of Ironspire.
His handsome but frigid face hardened upon seeing Julian—now inhabited by Alistair—not in a pleading heap on the cell floor, but sitting calmly in a guardroom chair with his hand neatly bandaged.
"Vane! Why can this rat still speak?" Cedric's voice thundered, shattering the room's silence.
Captain Vane bowed respectfully, though his sword remained leveled at Alistair's neck. "My apologies, My Lord. This prisoner... he has begun raving about nonsensical things. He is refusing to be dragged to the execution grounds."
Cedric stepped forward, his black leather gloved hand gripping the hilt of the short sword at his waist. He stood directly before Alistair, staring at him with pure loathing. "Julian, Julian... You should have died quietly last night. Why must you make everything difficult? Was Silas's torture not enough to satisfy you?"
Alistair raised his head slowly. He did not look down. He stared directly into the Baron's eyes, an act considered a grave insult for a commoner.
"That torture only killed the old Julian, Baron," Alistair said calmly. "The current Julian is far more interested in... your health."
Cedric let out a short, dry laugh, a sound void of emotion. "My health? You've gone mad from the pain. I am the healthiest man in Aethelgard. While you? You are nothing but a carcass waiting for dawn."
"Healthy?" Alistair cocked an eyebrow. "Then why are you wearing those gloves, Cedric? Even in this sweltering room? Why do you always wear such pungent rose perfume to mask the fishy odor seeping from your pores?"
The smile on Cedric's face froze. His jaw muscles tightened. "Watch your tongue, filth!"
Alistair leaned back, appearing entirely relaxed even as death peeked from behind Vane's blade. "Hard, silver patches like scales. Intense itching at night. And every time you sweat, your skin feels like it's burning, doesn't it? That is why you let no one touch your hands. Not even Isabelle... your own fiancée."
The room suddenly fell deathly silent. Silas, standing in the corner clutching his newly operated neck, held his breath. Captain Vane looked confused, but he could see Baron Cedric's gloved hand begin to tremble violently.
"You... how do you know that?" Cedric hissed. His voice dropped low now, thick with a lethal threat.
"I am a doctor. Or at least, I see what your foolish physicians cannot," Alistair lied slightly to protect his true identity. "It is called Argentum Psoriasis. In my world—I mean, in ancient medical records—it is an extremely rare contagious disease. One usually contracted from contact with rotting animal carcasses in the forbidden marshes. You often go hunting there, don't you, Baron?"
Cedric took a step back, his face deathly pale. A secret he had kept tightly guarded, one that even his private physician dared not name, was now being spoken plainly by a convict.
"That is slander!" Cedric screamed, his voice turning shrill with panic. "Vane! Cut out his tongue this instant!"
"Wait, Captain!" Alistair called out, his voice remaining steady. "If you kill me, will this secret die with me? No. I have already written a full diagnosis and the symptoms of the Baron's illness on a scrap of cloth hidden in my cell. If I do not return in one hour, another friend of mine will ensure that cloth reaches the Royal Council."
It was a pure bluff. Alistair hadn't had the time to write a single word. But in this world of intrigue, a bluff was often sharper than a blade.
"You think the Council will believe the writings of a murderer?" Cedric tried to laugh, but his voice wavered.
"They might not believe my writing," Alistair countered with a provocative, lopsided smile. "But they will believe it if they force you to remove those gloves in public. Imagine the scandal, Baron. A Halloway, a carrier of a disgusting, contagious plague. You won't just lose your title; you'll be exiled to the leper colony."
Cedric completely lost his composure. His eyes bulged wildly. He knew Alistair was right. In the Kingdom of Aethelgard, physical perfection was everything to the nobility. A contagious skin disease was viewed as a divine curse and punishment for a great sin.
"You... you think you can blackmail me?" Cedric drew his short sword from its sheath. The glint of silver metal reflected the torchlight. "I will kill you here, then I will burn this entire prison to erase your trace!"
"Cedric, you need me," Alistair remained seated, not moving an inch as the tip of Cedric's sword touched his chest. "Your physician only gives you ointments that make the symptoms worse, right? I can cure it. Without a trace. Without anyone knowing."
"Lies! There is no cure for this curse!"
"To them, it is a curse. To me, it is merely a matter of chemical imbalance and fungal infection," Alistair looked at the sword with a dismissive gaze. "Kill me, and you will die slowly as those scales cover your entire face. Sheathe your sword, and we can negotiate."
Cedric's face flushed red with a mixture of rage and terror. He felt humiliated by someone who should have already died at his hands. His noble ego was severely wounded.
"I would rather die than bow to trash like you!" Cedric roared.
He raised his sword high—instead of a thrust, he prepared to cleave Alistair's neck with full force. Captain Vane turned his face away, not wanting to witness the unofficial execution.
"Die, Julian!"
CLANG!
The sound of metal clashing rang loudly through the guardroom. Cedric's sword did not hit Alistair's neck. A heavy wooden mace reinforced with iron blocked the blade just inches from Alistair's skin.
Cedric's eyes widened. He turned toward the person who dared to obstruct him.
"Silas?" Cedric hissed in disbelief. "What are you doing, you damned Jailer?!"
Silas, with his neck still wrapped in blood-red bandages, stood firm in front of Alistair. His usually subservient face was now hard and filled with resolve.
"My apologies, My Lord Baron," Silas said in his deep voice. "But this man... he saved my life tonight. And as a man of Aethelgard, I owe him a blood debt. I cannot allow you to kill him without an official public trial."
"You dare defy me?!" Cedric screamed hysterically. "Vane! Kill this Jailer too!"
Captain Vane hesitated. Punishing a prisoner was one thing, but killing a senior jailer respected by the other guards in Ironspire could spark a prison riot.
"My Lord," Vane tried to placate him. "Perhaps... perhaps we should listen to what he has to say. If he truly knows something about... your condition..."
"You are all traitors!" Cedric panted, his eyes bloodshot from overflowing emotion.
Alistair simply watched the drama unfold with a calm expression. He knew he had just gained his first ally. And he also knew that, outside, dawn had just broken. The dawn that was supposed to be the end of Julian's life had now become the beginning of Alistair Thorne's new game.
Cedric pointed at Alistair with a trembling finger, his sword still held back by Silas's mace. "You think you've won, Julian? You are still in my prison! I will ensure you never see the sun again!"
However, before Cedric could continue his threat, the majestic sound of royal trumpets blared from the front gates of Ironspire. A guard rushed in with a panicked expression.
"My Lord Baron! Envoys from the Main Palace have arrived! They carry a direct decree from His Majesty the King!"